


Black and White

by softsylvie



Category: Villainous (Cartoon)
Genre: oh you know just, this one just sort of stumbled out, two eldritch things chillin', you all have katie melua to thank for this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-29 20:59:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12093315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softsylvie/pseuds/softsylvie
Summary: On occasion, in some cast off dimension, they meet for tea.Strange as the arrangement may seem, somehow it works well enough.One of them takes sugar.  The other takes cyanide.





	Black and White

They meet in some place, some sprawling place or other, wedged into existence by the virtue of realized possibility. It’s some place between other places, some when, some why, where the grass is buoyant and the colors that refract in the sky run in a million different colors. In a human’s eye, the sky would run pure white. The grass would be a deep velvety purpled color, the walkways threading this place black and white, the concrete blocks alternating. 

And this is fitting, in a way!

On a red wire bench, they both sit calmly, garbed in black and white threads. A pair of tall stovepipe hats, a pair of long coats, red and turquoise vests, suits pressed so fine the creases run to flawless edges. 

You could _cut_ yourself on how sharp they look, brother.

In front of them, there stands a little serving table adorned with late teatime fare. 

Black Hat, aptly named, is mixing a few drops of cyanide into his cup. It’s how he takes it, you see. Cyanide, with maybe a scream or two of the damned, and a few drops of milk because he may embody and emanate pure evil, but he’s not a barbarian. Or at least, he’ll say so if it bodes well for a potential sale. Sometimes you have to fib a bit, run a few things off the cuff, slick over the details here and muddy the waters there, it’s all simply business, and it’s their fault if they don’t check the fine print anyway.

“You’re a right pain in the arse, you know that?” Black Hat snaps, once he’s taken an acidic sip.

White Hat, also aptly named, spreads a bit of clotted cream on a scone. His own recipe he’s brought, because cooking is an art of love, an art of the soul, and there’s nothing he loves more than putting love in everything he does. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about this time, my dear,” he says, his voice cool and soft and decidedly more elegant than the rough growl and accent of his twin.

And because White Hat doesn’t believe in fibbing, Black Hat knows better than to try calling him on it.

“Do you have a memory problem, now? Are you finally slipping up?” Black Hat asks. “You know damn well what I’m talking about! That could’ve been my hot product for the whole _summer_ and well beyond! Could have gone into the holiday catalogue!”

“Oh. That.” White Hat’s lip curls. If he had a more conventional nose, you can bet it would wrinkle in his clear distaste. “You mean _that._ I see, yes, I remember now.”

“Yes, that!”

“A deadly, infectious disease. That would have gone into your holiday catalogue.”

Black Hat reaches for a rock cake, spreading something gray and decidedly questionable on it. “Perfect for Christmas, I thought. You want to talk about peace on Earth–”

“It would have _killed everyone,_ ” White Hat cuts in sharply.

“Precisely!”

“Oh for goodness’ sake…” 

“I could’ve raked it in,” Black Hat keeps on, fangs bared, his little cake forgotten. “That was the essence of legends, you idiot! It made Bubonic Plague a bloody two hour baby shower at your Aunt Matilda’s, in comparison!”

“And I suppose decimating an _entire Earth_ with it wasn’t enough for you?” White Hat turns in scandalized disbelief. His fingers tighten ever so slightly around his scone, prompting the fall of a few crumbs. 

Black Hat shrugs. “Way they were going, I did them a favor.”

White Hat goes very still where he sits. He wouldn’t be proud to admit to this, but he’s tempted to take a swing here. Lay a claw or two into flesh and bone and cartilage, see if he can’t knock some sense into his foul-mouthed, ruffian lookalike. 

He wants to, and he has no doubt that Black Hat is roiling with all the same temptations, but they know how it will end in this place. 

They know that they will rip apart this dimension in their row, that their powers will check one another until nothing remains. They know their winds will crash, and a storm will tear this place among others away, and they will both limp off to go lick their own wounds. They know that they will render this reality an insufferable pit of never ending blows, and that they will form another vortex that serves only to blot out good and evil alike. 

It risks precious lives for White Hat, and it risks potential business and clientele for Black Hat, and so neither of them let it come to this, if they can help it.

When they aren’t thwarting one another across the expanse, when they aren’t bugging the shit out of each other across the multiverse, they meet every so often to air their grievances. Something of a gentleman’s arrangement, and really, the only sensible arrangement, when you think about it. Or at least, neither of them wants to think more about it, because it works in its own way and it’s the best deal the multiverse is going to get.

White Hat draws a breath and counts to ten. The urge for violence slowly passes, and he sips from his cup, white and painted with a turquoise rose.

“Nothing to say for yourself, eh?” Black Hat asks, scowling. He can smell the ripe citrus in White Hat’s tea, along with the cinnamon, honey, lavender, all the fragrant niceties of nature that make his gut twist. 

“Now frankly, I don’t know what you expected, dear,” White Hat replies, mixing in an extra cube of sugar. “Of course we were going to come up with a cure for it. Did you expect me to sit idly by while you infected _other_ worlds with it? While you _tested your product,_ as you put it, on entire innocent populations? I wouldn’t be doing my job very well if I allowed that, now, would I?”

Black Hat grumbles. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t.” He knocks his tea back like a shot of whiskey. From where White Hat sits, it smells like something akin to rotten fruit and old engine oil.

“I’m glad we agree on that much.”

“Wouldn’t be much of an enmity if we got along much further, you twat.”

“ _Language._ ”

“My _**sincerest**_ apologies.” Black Hat tips his namesake suavely, showcasing the bowler underneath before replacing it. “And politely as I may word this, my dear Wank Hat, go fuck yourself.”

White Hat rolls his eyes. “Charming.”

“No really, do. That cost me a _season’s_ profits.”

“My heart bleeds.”

Across the park-like plane, they can see a lengthened something scrabbling up the walkway. Its edges blur as they waver in and out of fourteenth-dimensional existence, a thousand purple legs twitching and a million eyes fluttering almost sleepily across its back. It goes as suddenly as it appeared. Neither of the Hats pay it much mind, going back to tea and scones and cakes and muttering angrily about lost revenue and innocent casualties. It’s a nice day for an afternoon walk besides, they both figure, that’s about the only tick in the positive for this situation.

White Hat fancies a good walk to end with an old woman aided across a busy intersection.

Black Hat fancies lighting a cigar over the burning of an orphanage.

“You’re still a pain in the arse,” Black Hat remarks almost vaguely.

“And you continue to be a bit of a thorn, yourself,” White Hat says with a vexed sniff. “At least nothing’s changed. I can continue to foresee your unruly behavior, thankfully.”

“Heh. We’ll see about that.”

“Although speaking of the ones whose existence you seem to plague, how _is_ that poor scientist of yours?” White Hat looks to his doppelganger with a glint of concern now clear in his visible eye. “The new one. Flug, I believe his name was?”

He’s met with some crude munching, as Black Hat chews curtly on his second rock cake. “Still as stupid and disappointing as he’s ever been, so, you’d probably say he’s doing well for himself.” The evil entity ponders this, then his mouth curves into a delectably wicked smile. “But while we’re on the subject, I don’t suppose you’re quite ready to put a price on Slug, yet, are you?”

White Hat’s mouth twists into a toothy snarl at that, brows furrowing. His back straightens. His tea cup comes down on his plate with a rather decisive clatter, sloshing his drink until it nearly spills. “If even I were to give up hope on Slug, which I _will not,_ ” he intones, “I would certainly never accept _blood money_ of all things for him, Black Hat. I would hope you should think more highly of me than that.”

If Black Hat’s grin and twinkling eye bare indication, this is the exact response he’d been shooting for. He lets off a gravelly chuckle, shoulders shaking. “Oh, of course not,” he says, still snickering. “Shame, a real rotting shame. So much potential, wasted.”

“Don’t test me, Black Hat.” 

“No more than usual. Understood.”

And if only to be fair, White Hat won’t share this exact thought he’s had of poor Doctor Flug. Truly a confused young man if there ever was one, a troubled sort. Every broadcast he sees of his rival’s company is a cry for help to the hero within him, but White Hat also understands the gravity of choice. He understands the implications of forcing someone out of a situation, if even it’s a trap they’ve closed, themselves. If he were to take Flug out, he would only go running back. That’s the tragedy of it. 

“What about that bear of yours?” Black Hat presses, still eyeing him with that wolfy grin. “I’m a bit of the shrewd sort, but I can compromise! I’ll even toss you a trade!” 

“Not a chance. Whatever shred of good you have in that household, you clearly _need._ ”

The darker entity practically writhes, fingers itching in his gloves and masses quivering in his current shape. “And you admonish me for language!”

White Hat doesn’t push it. He nibbles into his scone, sips his tea, and stubbornly pushes away thoughts of anything in this multiverse trying its grimy hand at tempting Doctor Slug. He won’t have that, oh no he won’t. Doctor Slug, deep down, is far too good for the likes of that dirty line of work ever again and he’d known, in those desperate first moments, that prison was hardly any sort of answer. Roiling hate and corruption only beget more of the same; it makes White Hat wonder what half of these worlds are _thinking._

Out of sight, out of mind, most likely. It’s an unfortunately common response in most sentient beings. That warrants another sip of tea, if only because White Hat doesn’t particularly care for alcohol, and this is the next best thing.

The afternoon doesn’t pass, and yet it does, in dimensions with measurable time. How they both know how long they’ve been gone, how they keep a beat on the seconds is anyone’s guess.

“As lovely as this has been, I suppose I really must be going,” White Hat finally says, standing. He tugs a pearly white watch out of his coat pocket and checks the time that doesn’t exist. Its glistening face sports hands that twist wildly about in both directions, along runic numbers no human could hope to translate. 

Black Hat rises right beside him. “Yes, yes, _some_ of us have work to do,” he says haughtily, brushing imaginary dust from his lapels. “Work that’s going to be _**difficult**_ to compensate for.”

“I beg your pardon, are you still trying to make me believe you’re a victim in all this?”

“Heh. Suppose that ship’s sailed?”

“Quite some time ago, my dear.”

The two entities regard one another bitterly, the teatime fare having long since vanished like a swelling wreathe of smoke behind them. 

Echoes of sheer power roil between them, temptation scratches at the both of them to try their hand, just this one other time. Any other time has been a failure, but who’s to say it will always end that way? Who’s to say? It’ll be different this time, surely it’ll be different this time, or at least, that’s how either of them might justify it. A talon in the right place, a strike at the other’s heart, though they both know that the other’s heart, the other’s core is one of the most closely guarded secrets of the multiverse. Within both of their more conventional forms, it’s a labyrinth to even hope for a chance to kill either one of them. Trying to strip away the walls and break all the barriers can call for the destruction of entire worlds around both of them, they’re a blight to the multiverse, a pair of ticking time bombs. If reality only had the sentience and conscience to regret the creation of the both of them, you can be sure that it would mourn the day either of them came to exist.

As above, so below. 

Still, they’re aware of all these pesky little complications and they move accordingly, at least. The worlds around their path have that going for them.

Black Hat offers his twin one last serpentine smile, teal points of fang jutting over his lip. 

White Hat beats down raw instinct and offers a courteous nod right back. 

Checked eternally, they both turn on their heels and stride away. They both have business to attend to, so on and so forth.

Reality goes on flowing, a trillion different ways.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> Any and all attention/concrit is appreciated! <3


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